


And Eat It, Too

by Artifiction



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Cake, Gen, Ivan you idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifiction/pseuds/Artifiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregor interacts with his constituency. Byerly and Ivan provide backup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Eat It, Too

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [ana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ana/pseuds/ana) in the [Bujold_Ficathon_2013](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bujold_Ficathon_2013) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Request by ana  
> Gregor decides to 'meet the people' - incognito - by working in Ivan's favourite bakery/cafe. Ivan or Byerly (or both) have the wonderful task of being part of the team keeping an eye on him - which can't be easy with all that distracting cake.

“By.”

     “By.”

     “By.”

     “…”

     “Byyy!”

     It wasn’t Ivan’s somewhat panicky tone that had finally gotten By to glance away from the mesmerizing chocolate… masterpiece. Ivan always spoke in a somewhat panicky whisper whenever they were out on covert work. But the sudden spike in the ratio of panic-to-whisper was enough to catch his attention. He jerked his gaze up to Ivan.

     “What.”

     “He’s gone.”

     By blinked, and slowly raised his gaze to look around the small confectioner’s shop. The walls were painted a pretty pastel with a cupcake motifs. A long glass counter stretched the length of the store, protecting the goods within from customers and Byerly alike. The air was heavy with the smell of baked goods and sugar, enough to make By’s teeth hurt in the future premonition of a visit to the dentist. The front windowpane gazed out on the clean-but-narrow alley that was the hallmark of the new Vorbarra Sultana construction, where dozens of Barrayaran citizens headed to and from the market district. Sadly, as By looked around, he came to the conclusion that there was no possible way Gregor could have found a hiding place in the shop. Barrayran civies weren’t good camouflage with pastel, and he was almost certain that despite the sheer volume of cream on the cake in front of him, Gregor had not managed to hide in there, either.

     “Son of a _bitch,_  Ivan, you had _one job.”_

     Ivan had the decency to look abashed.

     “I was trying! I really was! But there was this… this…” Ivan jerked his thumb at a pile of sweet rolls under the glass that seemed to be oozing honey and deliciousness in equal portions. “They haven’t had them in _months.”_ He sounded plaintive, and at second look, Byerly almost forgave him: the sweet rolls looked like something served in Valhalla. But they were missing an Emperor, sweet rolls or no sweet rolls.

     “I don’t care if they hadn’t had them in centuries! We’re supposed to be shadowing Gregor!” By took three swift steps across the store, and pressed his face to the glass. Indeed, the shop opposite theirs that they had watched Gregor enter, a small botique of knitted goods, was now empty save for the proprietor. “Three hours. We’ve been following him for three _hours_  and you lose him over a bakery. Ivan, I swear…”  
  
     Ivan would never have the misfortune to hear exactly what Byerly swore as their mark reappeared. Traveling swiftly. Through the air. The Emperor landed in a heap on the cement, and two thuggish men suddenly appeared, stalking into view, towards Gregor. The pedestrian crowd had vanished: at the knit store, the clear glass storefront began to spark blue with the distinct energy discharges of a rapidly raised protective field, and in the distance, By could almost hear the sirens as the municipal guard got word of a fight in the market district. “Goddamit! We have to get him out of here!” By slammed into the glass door… and bounced off, landing in a heap surprisingly similar to Gregor’s, on the floor of the store. He had a moment to appreciate the rich scents soaked into the hardwood before springing back to his feet, about to give it another perplexed try. Ivan caught his shoulder.

     “It’s no use.” By turned to him, blinking for an explanation, and Ivan morosely gestured at the blue sparkles across the way… or rather, not only across the way. “Automatic. Goes up if there’s a violence alert, to keep it from spilling in-“ By glanced around for an off switch, and Ivan shook his head again, “-or out.” By just grunted his assent, and kept glancing around as if looking for another exit, responding to Ivan’s raised eyebrow with a glare.

     “What, do you want me watch the Emperor get assaulted by some random street goons?” 

The two men had reached the prone man, and seemed to be trying to position themselves for a round of kicking-someone-while-he’s-down.

     “No. I expect you to give Gregor, and his military instructors, at least a bit of credit.” 

The kick came swiftly: the sharp crack of someone’s knee bending in a direction knees shouldn’t bend as Gregor grabbed, rolled, and applied pressure came swifter still, followed by a slightly delayed howl of pain. The second man, seemingly entirely perplexed by the fact that his prospective kickbag had moved, went for the kick anyways. Gregor’s neat rising uppercut took both feet out from under him. The hollow thunk of a thick skull meeting unmerciful payment punctuated the precisely executed takedown a moment later. Gregor bending in half over his now-bruised hand, pained, was slightly less elegant, but seemed a fitting eulogy to the two figures on the ground, one rocking back and forth clutching his knee, the other unconscious and still. 

“See? The day is saved! I didn’t screw… up… after…” Ivan trailed off, eyes focused on something outside. Byerly crossed the shop, gaze following Ivan’s. An aircar emblazoned with the colors of the municipal guard had come to a stop a few meters above the street, and the complementary municipal guards had come pouring out to apprehend the ‘brawlers’. 

     “ _Shit.”_

  
     Bent over his knuckles, Gregor never even saw the stunner beam.

…

     “Yes, officer, I assure you, I know this man very well.” By was doing his best eager-public-servant face for the benefit of the desk sergeant. “Fighting in the streets isn’t like him at all. Are you sure he threw the first punch?” The man’s quick glance to the side and noncommittal grunt was enough of a telling answer for By, and he offered him a wide smile. “Well in that case, I’m certain you can’t claim he did anything wrong.”

     “The brothers claim he provoked them.“

     “Provoked them how? Step on their shadows, or something?”

     The sergeant didn’t quite have a death glare, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. “He was slandering the Emperor.”

     It took all of Byerly’s years of training to keep a straight face: Ivan, without that benefit, buried his snigger in a sip of caf.

     A vein throbbed in the municipal Guardman’s forhead. “You two think the Emperor’s a laugin’ matter too?”

      Ivan seemed to be choking. Byerly gave him a quick glare. “No. Not at all sir. And neither does our friend. And considering you say he didn’t start the fight….”

     The older man just grumbled something, shaking his head. “Twenty years ago, I’d be putting your friend in irons and handing the fellows a medal. Damn city’s going to the galactics.” He slid a plastic card across the desk. “Show it to the cells officer. He’ll get you your friend.

     Byerly made sure to tuck away the card before standing and beckoning Ivan along. “Thank you very much, sir. We’ll make sure to keep our friend out of trouble.” They managed to escape the office before the obligatory, yet asinine response of “You’d better,” reached their ears, and minutes later, they found themselves collecting a slightly bedraggled Emperor Vorbarra from the cells officer. Ivan, with Byerly’s full approval, declared the afternoon expedition over. Gregor didn’t overmuch protest: the stunner headache seemed like it was getting to him, and by the time they reached the palace, Gregor was practically hanging between them.

     “Why didn’t you just tell them who you were?” As Ivan passed Gregor onto grim-faced ImpSec guards whose faces promised a less-than-enjoyable debriefing, the Emperor smiled.

     “Where’s the fun in that?”

**Author's Note:**

> -Fin-. And yes. I realize this required some suspension of disbelief. Ana, I hope this is to your satisfaction. I rambled a bit.


End file.
